


Unwrapping Birthdays

by imadra_blue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders as Champion of Kirkwall, Birthday, Canon - Video Game, Fluff, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is confused why Anders's impending birthday has left him depressed until Varric explains there might be more to it than simply a concern with aging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwrapping Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emotionalmorphine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/gifts).



> Happiest Birthday, Emotionalmorphine! I hope your day was good, even if you were sick. <3
> 
> Story Notes: This fic takes place in an AU where Anders never joined with Justice, but still fled from the Wardens to go to Kirkwall, though his reasons for remaining now involve a certain elf from Tevinter. This Anders is extrapolated from Anders's characterization in _Dragon Age: Awakening_. There is no Hawke; Anders is the Champion of Kirkwall. The timeline is placed between Acts 2 and 3.
> 
> On the Use of "Birthday": I could not remember or find any references to "birthdays" or "name days" in relation to Thedas's culture. I use "birthday" here, since a "name day" celebration would seem odd in a culture that doesn't name their children after saints and doesn't have christenings. No indication has been given that naming a child entails any special significance beyond the personal level. Apparently, children are dedicated in the faith of the Chantry, but there's little detail on this practice. So I went with "birthday." If you have some canon data on this (from the games; I do not follow any other Dragon Age media), please let me know.

…

When Fenris returned to the room, Anders had laid his head down on the card table, his arms dangling at his side, staring listlessly at nothing. Everyone else had gone home for the night, so it was just Anders, blond head planted over his losing hand of cards, all the chips he failed to win piled in the center of the table, out of his reach.

Fenris plunked down a bottle of wine. "Why are you still here?"

"You mean you don't enjoy my sparkling personality?"

"You're not exactly sparkling now. What's the opposite of sparkling in your tongue? Dimming? You're dimming."

Anders sighed.

"What is your problem?" Fenris asked, wondering why Anders always lingered after the weekly diamondback games. In fact, if Anders had a defining characteristic, it was lingering. Everywhere Fenris went, Anders seemed to linger. It wasn't that Fenris minded; it was more that he wondered why.

"I'm getting old."

"We're all getting older. Every day, every passing second."

"Not older. Old. I'm going to be thirty-eight in two days, Fenris. Thirty-eight. And two years after that, I'll be forty. I have lines of my face. My hair is thinning. I'll go gray any minute now, I can feel it."

Fenris wasn't sure why any of this was something worth complaining about, but Anders did enjoy complaining. "I can already see some gray hairs. And why do human men lose their hair as they age? I've never understood that."

Anders lifted his head and stared. "Are you telling me that elven men never lose their hair with age?"

"Yes."

"I've seen bald elves, Fenris."

"Like humans, some of us shave our heads."

Anders dropped his head back on the table, causing the chips to rattle and the wine bottle to fall over. "Wonderful, so you're going to laugh at me when all my hair falls out."

"Why would I laugh at something so pathetic?" Fenris righted the wine bottle, grateful he had left the cork in. "What is with this sudden preoccupation with aging?"

"Why don't you care about aging?" Anders looked up. "How old are you, anyways?"

"I have no idea."

"How can you not know?"

"Slaves don't keep track of their birthdays. You know I have no memory of my youth, which prevents me from even guessing my age. I must be older than twenty and less than fifty."

"Oh." Anders went quiet, as he always did when Fenris mentioned something of his past. After a long moment, he spoke again. "Whatever age you are, you're still damn beautiful."

"I… thank you." Fenris frowned. Anders was often free with his compliments of late, but Fenris could not truly ascertain what he wanted. In their first few years in Kirkwall, they had done little more than bicker at each other, but age had mellowed Anders—and perhaps Fenris as well. They agreed to disagree more often than not. Did Anders simply offer compliments now as a peace offering, or did he mean them in another fashion? Fenris had yet to master fully understanding how humans approached relationships. They were profoundly dishonest and seemed to revel in verbal misdirection.

"I guess I better go." Anders snatched up the bottle of wine and took a swig before passing it back to Fenris. He studied him from beneath his lashes, his expression difficult to read. "I'm not getting any younger, after all."

…

The next day, they ventured through the city after Anders as he ran errands for the remarkably helpless Kirkwall aristocracy in hopes of earning enough coin for all of them to eat. He seemed particularly unenthusiastic. When the sun started to set, Varric suggested a night at the Hanged Man. Anders dragged his feet as they headed through Lowtown, falling to the back of the group now. He seemed preoccupied with every reflective surface they passed, constantly staring at himself. Anders had always possessed a certain level of vanity, exhibited largely in the collection of feathers pinned to his shoulders, but this didn't seem like vanity to Fenris. He seemed sad, withdrawn. He didn't constantly prattle about meaningless frivolity or make a single diatribe about the treatment of mages.

Fenris fell into step beside Varric. If anyone would understand human behavior, it would be him. "Are birthdays important to humans?"

Varric looked up at him. "Eh? Yes, they celebrate them every year, sometimes with a party. Dwarves do the same. Don't elves?"

"I have no idea what the elves here do. Slaves don't."

"Oh." Varric pursed his lips together. "Are you having a birthday soon, elf?"

"No. But Anders is apparently going to be thirty-eight tomorrow. Is that a significant age to humans?"

Varric glanced back at Anders, who was still lagging behind, before turning to Fenris. "Not really. Sort of middle-aged, I guess. It's not that old."

"He seems… upset that he is aging."

"Maybe he's worried a certain someone won't find him attractive now."

"A certain someone?" Fenris scowled. "Who? Isabela? You? If it's Merrill, I don't want to know."

With a dramatic sigh, Varric tilted his face to the sky. "Andraste preserve me, for I am speaking to an elf who apparently spent the entirety of the last year not comprehending that a man was practically throwing himself at him."

"What?"

Varric continued speaking to the sky. "Apparently, this elf cannot recognize flirting as anything short of Anders stripping naked and wrestling him into the nearest bed. Bless this innocent creature, Andraste."

"How do you know that's what he was doing?" Fenris demanded.

Varric clasped his hands as if in prayer. "Andraste, this poor elf legitimately believed that Anders needed to be carried back from the Bone Pit on his back. He honestly didn't understand all the implications of Anders's numerous offers of 'healing massages.' He genuinely thought Anders was asking him if he got cold sleeping alone in that big mansion because Anders was concerned for his health."

Fenris fell silent for a moment, considering these events. "I wasn't sure. Humans here are misleading in their behaviors. Especially the mages."

"I will attempt to help this naïve creature, Andraste. Guide me in this hour of need." Varric genuflected as he walked and then grinned up at Fenris. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to be the one who broke this to you, but I couldn't be more sure that Anders wanted to get inside that skintight armor of yours if he had told me while drunk one night how much he wanted you in unnecessarily explicit detail. Which, by the way, he has. On multiple occasions. Isabela encourages these discussions when he's drunk."

After glancing back at Anders, who was still scuffing his boots along the cobble-stoned pavement, Fenris glared down at Varric. "What do human birthday celebrations entail? And if you insinuate anything about why I want to know, I will forcefully shave your chest."

Varric flashed his very white teeth. "Elf, there might be hope for you yet."

…

When Anders arrived home in his Lowtown home to find Fenris sitting at his kitchen table, he seemed understandably surprised. "Uh, hello, Fenris. Are you hurt?" 

"No. Why would you think that?" Fenris asked, looking up from his feet. They hadn't even been in a fight worth mentioning in months.

Anders stood in the entrance of his home, glancing about before entering and setting his staff against a wall. "Well, I am a healer. You might recall I used to run a clinic. Just because you helped me get into a fight with a very large Qunari doesn't mean I don't still heal people."

"I am not injured."

"Well, I expect you're not here to rob me. Don't have much to rob. So why are you here?" Anders dumped a couple of bottles of wine on a table. "My birthday dinner," he said, when he noticed Fenris staring at it.

"Well, that is the exact reason I am here," Fenris said, standing from the chair. He studied Anders, noting the dark circles around Anders's eyes, the sag to his shoulders. He seemed tired more than he seemed old. Kirkwall demanded too much of him.

"You came here to steal my birthday dinner?" Anders glanced down at the wine bottles. "It's not even good wine. I bought what was cheap."

"No, I didn't come here to drink your wine. I came here because of your birthday. And because you helped me that day we first met, in the Alienage, against the men who were hunting me down. That means something to me."

Anders blinked. "I'm not sure what that has to do with my birthday?"

"Yes, yes, just listen for once. You and I do not agree on many points, though we have come to a sort of understanding. I accepted that you were a mage and a stronger mage than I ever expected. You have helped me against my enemies, and for that I am grateful."

"You're welcome." Anders studied him with a wan smile, his brown eyes inscrutable. "We don't have to agree to understand each other. And you've helped me as well, Fenris. That mess with the Qunari last year—I couldn't have muddled my way through that without you. I'm grateful as well."

"That's—you're welcome, but that's not my point." Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Talking to humans, especially humans like Anders, could be maddening. Perhaps he had been too long around them—he was being just as misleading. "My point is that I spoke to Varric."

"Okay. So you broke into my house while I was buying wine because of my birthday and because I helped you a few years ago, but really all because you spoke to Varric. I understand perfectly. Crystal clear and utterly rational. I wasn't even the slightest bit confused."

Fenris glared at Anders until he piped down. "Varric said that humans celebrate their birthdays with small feasts and large gifts. Nobles will have hunts and large parties, but common folk simply make a nice meal of it and sing songs and drink in your honor and sometimes give each other small handmade gifts. I cannot cook, I cannot sing, and you're drinking enough in your own honor for both of us. I also have no skill for making gifts."

Anders chuckled. "Fenris, it's fine. I don't expect anything. I mean, I suppose I could have had a small party at the Hanged Man, but I don't feel up to it. Don't worry about it. Want a drink?"

"No, you still don't understand. I—this is difficult for me." Fenris realized why he was having trouble expressing himself. He felt raw and exposed. Revealing feelings openly made on vulnerable. When he had spoken honestly and directly before, it was because he felt he had nothing to lose. And he never had before. Until now. "I do have a gift for you. It is small, but it is yours, if you want it."

"What's that?" Anders asked, his eyes hooded now as he studied Fenris.

Fenris stepped close and pulled Anders down into a kiss. It started out slow, soft, but then Anders pushed him back against the wall, hungry for more, kissing him fiercely enough to steal his breath, his hands winding over Fenris's neck and into his hair. Fenris gasped as Anders unbuckled his armor, his entire body heated through.

Anders dropped Fenris's armor piece by piece onto the half-rotted wood with loud _thunks_. "I like unwrapping presents," he murmured, tugging off Fenris's suddenly too-tight smallclothes before pressing his lips to Fenris's mouth again.

"Happy Birthday," Fenris whispered between kisses.

.

_End._


End file.
